The sound is low and rich and completely unexpected, and it makes me feel somewhat happy, surprisingly.
"What?" I ask, turning back to him, starting to laugh despite myself.
He keeps laughing, shaking his head slightly.
"Octavian, what!" I tap his arm, and the contact sends a spark up my fingers. "I'm not used to you not being serious, so is it funny, or is this like when serial killers break and kill their first victim?"
He slows his laugh, looking at me with something that almost looks like amusement. "I've never had anyone try and imitate me before. Poorly, but—" He pauses. "Do you think I sound like that?"
We share a look, the kind that lingers too long, and I can't help the smile plastered over my face.
I don't know what to say, so I roll my eyes, shake my head, and I have to physically force myself to turn back to the window.
But the smile stays and so do the thoughts of him laughing at my joke.
We arrive at the historic Boston venue, a grand old building with marble columns and sweeping staircases lit by golden chandeliers.
Cameras flash as guests arrive. Press clustered at the base of the stairs. Donors in tuxedos and gowns ascending like royalty.
A valet comes to open my door, but Octavian won't allow it. He steps in between them and does the honor, helping me out.
As we walk up the stairs leading inside, he sticks out his arm.
I look up at him for a moment.
My mind tells me to keep him at a distance.
But my body moves without thinking.
I slide my arm through his, and we walk in together.
And goddamn it, it feels good.
14
KERIA
The ballroom is magnificent.
Orchids, just like I requested, cascade from tall centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers glitter overhead. A string quartet plays softly in the corner while ice sculptures melt slowly on tables draped in ivory silk.
Waiters in crisp white glide between clusters of Boston's wealthiest, balancing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
Even though I've planned and done this a hundred times, it's always special to see it all come together. More so now that I have a team of people who take care of most of it.
For me, it's game time. I put on my social mask, take a deep breath, and do my thing.
I work the room. Smile at donors who think their money buys them access to my life. Laugh at jokes that aren't funny. Listen to politicians drone on about community investment while mentally calculating how much of their "charity" is really just tax evasion.
But through it all, tonight feels different.
Because Octavian is here and he's not just playing bodyguard, he's truly acting like my date.
Not lurking in shadows. Not watching from across the room with those dark, unreadable eyes.
Right here, beside me.
I introduce him vaguely as "a family associate," and no one questions it. How could they? He looks like he belongs in a room full of power players, even though I can tell he's not comfortable with it.
